


old pages, freshly dug earth

by RonnieMinor



Series: Spirit of the Season - Teen Wolf Holiday Exchange fics [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Library, Bromance, Christmas, Death References, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Oblivious Stiles, Pre-Relationship, Slow Build, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-14
Updated: 2012-12-16
Packaged: 2017-11-21 03:02:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/592705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RonnieMinor/pseuds/RonnieMinor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Stiles is a librarian. Isaac is a gravedigger. An unlikely romance follows."</p><p>Very slow burn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. October: Halloween

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt in the summary. A little on the strange side, because I see Stiles and Isaac as a pair of oddballs.
> 
> Chapters will be on the shorter side, because I set myself a 1,500 word limit for each one - mainly so I wouldn't ramble and be late submitting my fic.
> 
> Warning: references to parental death.

It’s eight o’clock. Stiles is sleepy. In fact, he’s sleepy enough that the idea of forgoing his morning coffee is laughable. So as much as he hates the fact that he wound up getting a Starbucks today –now everyone’s going to think he’s some kind of hipster, ugh – there’s no way he’s not keeping his cardboard cup of caffeine close at hand. Apparently people actually _use_ the library these days, even at god-forsaken hours like eight am. His venti Americano (black, no sugar) might actually come under the heading of a necessity right now. 

He’s roughly half-awake (which is definitely an improvement on earlier) when a new arrival catches his attention. Tall and blonde with a jaw that you could cut yourself on, the guy’s face tugs at something deep in the labyrinth of Stiles’ brain. He knows him from somewhere, he’s sure… A model, perhaps? Or maybe an actor? Except if capital G gorgeous over there was either of those things, there’s no way he’d be in Beacon Hills. 

Shaking his head, Stiles takes another slurp of coffee and goes back to the list of emails that were waiting for him when he came in this morning. Hot guys are all well and good; he’s still got a job to do. Admittedly it’s not a very exciting job, but with the economy the way it is and his dad’s health getting less and less good, Stiles isn’t complaining. Well, not much anyway. 

He’s in the middle of writing a somewhat impatient email explaining exactly why it is they only have one set of the Twilight Saga in stock when a cough interrupts him. Turning away from the ancient library computer, he finds himself face to face with Mr Not-A-Model-But-Should-Be from earlier. 

‘Uh, hey’, he says, scrambling for something clever to say and failing miserably. ‘What can I do you for?’ 

The guy stares at him. ‘You’re not Ms Macready.’ 

Stiles nods slowly. ‘Yup, you got that right. I’m Stiles, Stiles Stilinski – the Sheriff’s my dad, in case you were wondering. I’m going to be working here for the next few months, cause Ms Macready’s off on some cruise or something. So yeah…’ 

The guy carries on staring. Stiles sighs. 

‘You want to check out those books?’ 

The guy nods and passes over the six – _six_ – books he’s holding. Stiles takes a moment to check out his hands (yeah, he _knows_ it’s weird), which are long –fingered and…dirty. 

‘Have you been doing yard-work too? Cause I swear, if my dad makes me rake up any more leaves I’m going to throw a tantrum or something.’ 

Tall, blonde and handsome looks confused. Stiles gestures to his hands. ‘You’ve got a little mud on you’, he explains. And yeah, that’s an understatement – there’s a massive muddy smear across one of his hands and dirt under his nails – but Stiles isn’t a dick, so he’s not about to point that out. 

‘Oh. Sorry.’ 

Stiles shrugs. ‘It’s cool man. You should see me at the end of the day – ink stains everywhere. And I mean, _everywhere_.’ He opens the first book to scan it, then chuckles. ‘Sorry, I totally forgot to ask for your library card.’ 

The card gets handed over in silence. Stiles scans it and gives it back to its owner, one Isaac Lahey. The books are checked out and stamped less than a minute later. Stiles hands them over in a stack and lets his curiosity get the better of him as he asks, ‘So… did you go to Beacon Hills High? Cause I totally feel like I’ve met you before or something...’ 

‘I have to go’, Isaac says abruptly. ‘Thanks for the books.’ And he walks out of the library without a moment’s hesitation. 

‘Well that was awkward…’ Stiles mumbles to himself. Then he sighs. Whatever. He has a library to run and an email about Twilight to finish. The mystery of Isaac Lahey can wait for another day. 

* * *

A couple of days later, Stiles closes up early. It’s Halloween and the town is full of kids running around in crazy costumes, pestering people for candy and filling the air with chatter. Stiles watches with a smile, reminded of himself at that age, trailing around with his best friend Scott because they didn’t have anyone else to go with. These days, Halloween’s an excuse to party and get drunk. 

But first, he’s got one very important thing to do. 

‘Hey Mom’, he says quietly, stopping in front of her headstone. ‘I got you something.’ Then he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out the little skeleton candle he saw in a store window the other day. He lights it careful, sheltering the flame with his hand as he places it in front of the headstone, then steps back and watches it flicker brightly. 

‘I know if you were here, you’d tell me not to waste my money on silly things like that, but you’re not here so…’ Stiles shrugs. ‘I remember the way you used to talk about Halloween. All those crazy stories about Samhain and dia de los muertos that you used to tell me when I was a kid.’ He sighs. ‘I miss you. I wish you were here. Sometimes… sometimes I like to imagine that I’ll wake up one morning and you’ll be in the kitchen, making breakfast and singing, like you always used to. You’ll smile at me and kiss me on the cheek. Then you’ll hand Dad whatever super-healthy thing you’ve cooked him for lunch and he’ll take it even though he hates that stuff, cause he loves you so -’ 

‘I’m sorry. I… I didn’t mean to intrude.’ It’s the guy from the other day, Isaac Lahey, his eyes wide and almost afraid. 

Stiles shakes his head. ‘It’s ok’, he says. Then his curiosity gets the better of him. Again. ‘What brings you here? Is it a relative?’ He nods to the gravestone in front of him, which reads: _Cassandra Stilinski, much beloved wife and mother, 20th March 1972 – 2nd February 2006, “She shone brighter than any star”_. ‘That’s my mom.’ 

‘I’m sorry’, Isaac says again. His eyes dart around nervously. ‘I… I don’t have family here. I mean, I do, but that’s not why I’m here.’ He shrugs carelessly. ‘I work here. My family own the funeral home and the cemetery. On Halloween, I patrol the place – sometimes we get kids coming in and making a mess.’ He bites his lip. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll go now.’ And before Stiles can say anything, he melts into the darkness like a shadow, leaving Stiles alone with his mother’s grave and the little skeleton candle.


	2. November: Thanksgiving

Stiles doesn’t see Isaac again for almost two weeks after Halloween. That doesn’t mean he forgets about him though, or that he doesn’t take the opportunity to do some digging in Isaac’s background. After all, he’s an insatiably curious History graduate whose dad is the Sheriff - nosiness is practically in his blood. And it doesn’t help that Isaac is something of an enigma. 

He starts with a Google search, which gives him nothing more than the website for the Lahey funeral home. The site doesn’t give him much, just some clearly bullshit blurb about the Lahey family and how they’ve been serving the community as undertakers and funeral directors for over sixty years. It names Camden Lahey as the guy in charge of the place, but doesn’t mention Isaac. Frustrated, Stiles turns to his next source – town gossip. 

‘Dude, do you know anything about a guy called Isaac Lahey?’ he asks Scott when he heads over to the veterinary clinic on his lunch break. 

‘Isaac? Oh he’s awesome’, Scott says, a big grin spreading across his face. ‘We started hanging out a little while after you went to college and he turned out to be a really cool guy.’ 

Stiles raises an eyebrow. ‘You guys hang out?’ 

Scott nods enthusiastically. ‘Yeah, a couple of times a week usually. Why do you look so surprised?’ 

‘I guess Isaac just doesn’t seem like the hanging out type’, Stiles says with a shrug. ‘And you never really mentioned him before.’ 

Scott’s mouth twists, and an uncharacteristically serious look appears on his face. ‘Isaac… he’s had some hard times, especially with his family. He’s kind of shy and a little bit socially awkward – a lot like you were in high school actually.’ Stiles sneers at his friend, but Scott just gives him a look and carries on like nothing’s happened. ‘Anyway, I dunno man, I guess I just didn’t think it was something I needed to tell you about. Plus you totally would have got jealous.’ 

Stiles contemplates being angry at that, then shrugs. ‘Yeah, I guess you’re right’, he admits. ‘But I still want to know how you guys started hanging out in the first place. I mean, who even is this guy?’ 

‘Dude, Isaac went to high school with us!’ Scott says, looking at Stiles like he’s some kind of idiot. ‘He was _on_ the lacrosse team – are you seriously telling me you didn’t know that?’ 

Stiles gapes at him. ‘Isaac was at school with us? Seriously? _Seriously?_ ’ When Scott nods at him, he shakes his head in disbelief. ‘What the hell? Did I go selectively blind or something?’ 

‘Well you _did_ kind of fixate on Lydia in high school’, Scott oh-so-kindly reminds him. ‘And Isaac mostly kept to himself.’ He shrugs at Stiles. ‘It’s not the end of the world, Stiles. There are plenty of people I don’t remember from high school.’ 

‘That doesn’t mean I don’t feel like a total douchebag’, Stiles replies. Then he looks at the clock and sighs. ‘I should head off, man. I’ll see you soon, yeah?’ 

Scott nods. ‘Sure. Text me. And don’t beat yourself up about Isaac!’ 

‘Too late for that’, Stiles mutters under his breath. 

* * *

‘Can I help you?’ 

Stiles whips around to face a guy in a suit, who looks to be in his late twenties. He’s frowning. 

‘Uh, yes, I think so’, Stiles says, mentally reminding himself that he’s a _grown up_ now and therefore needs to behave like one. ‘I was hoping someone could point me in the direction of Isaac Lahey?’ 

The guy carries on frowning. ‘What do you want with Isaac?’ 

Stiles shrugs. ‘I bumped into him the other day and we kind of got our wires crossed about something. I just wanted to straighten things out.’ 

Cue more frowning from suit guy. ‘Well I’m sure whatever it is can wait until after we close, so if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you’d leave. I’ll be sure to tell my brother you stopped by.’ Then he turns and leaves. 

‘You don’t even know my name!’ Stiles calls after him, frustrated. The guy carries on walking. Stiles scowls at his back and heads back to the library, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, his collar turned up against the cold. 

* * *

‘Camden said you came to the funeral home today.’ 

Stiles looks up sharply from the list of late fines he’s been updating, taken by surprise. Isaac’s standing in front of the desk, hands in the pockets of his ratty hoodie, his hair a wild mess. He looks just as awkward as the last two times Stiles has met him, shifting from one foot to another like he’s about to run away. Unexpectedly, Stiles finds himself wanting to see Isaac relax. 

‘Yeah, I wanted to speak to you. Actually, I wanted to apologise.’ He shrugs. ‘I feel like a dick for not remembering you from high school and I wanted to say I’m sorry.’ 

The look on Isaac’s face says he’s surprised, and he gives a graceless half-shrug. ‘It’s ok’, he says finally. ‘I mostly tried to not to catch anyone’s attention anyway. I’m pretty sure you’re not the only one who doesn’t remember me.’ 

‘I still feel like a douchebag’, Stiles tells him. ‘So I was wondering if maybe I could make it up to you? Maybe we could hang out sometime? Get a drink, or a coffee or something.’ He realises it sounds a little like a come-on, so he hurriedly adds, ‘Just as a friendly thing, obviously.’ 

‘I… I don’t think so’, Isaac says slowly. ‘I’m really busy with work right now and Camden -’ He cuts himself off abruptly. ‘I don’t think so’, he repeats. ‘Sorry.’ 

Stiles frowns. ‘Well, if you’re sure…’ Isaac nods. 

‘I’m sure’, he says, sounding more sure this time. Stiles isn’t convinced though. 

‘Ok, well, here’s my number if you change your mind’, he says to Isaac after a minute, scribbling his number on a post-it and sliding it over the desk. ‘I’m mostly free in the evenings and at the weekends.’ 

Isaac hesitates for a moment, then takes the post-it and curls his hand around it, shoving it into the pocket of his hoodie. Then he turns to go. 

‘How did you know it was me?’ Stiles asks him. ‘At the funeral home, today. I know your brother didn’t ask my name.’ 

Isaac stops, glancing quickly over his shoulder, eyes flickering over Stiles and away again. ‘I recognised you from Camden’s description’, he says eventually. And it throws Stiles enough that he lets Isaac leave without further comment. 

* * *

Stiles doesn’t see Isaac for a while after that. He doesn’t hear from him either. Instead, he spends Thanksgiving quietly, celebrating the day with his dad, Scott and Scott’s mom. 

The next day he lazes around the house in his pyjama bottoms and eats leftovers while playing Call of Duty one-handed. He’s just made the perfect headshot when his phone buzzes. Expecting it to be Scott, he presses pause and sprawls across the sofa to where his phone is sitting. To his surprise, it’s not Scott. In fact, it’s not a number he recognises at all. 

The text reads: _i have some free time tomorrow. isaac._ Stiles isn’t sure why it makes him feel as happy as it does.


	3. December Pt 1: Advent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up splitting December into two parts, because I couldn't fit it all in with my self-imposed 1,500 words per chapter limit. 
> 
> New faces in this chapter!

The soonest day they’re both free is the first of December. It’s a cold, grey day when Stiles heads out the house that morning, and even the sight of the Stilinski family wreath on the front door isn’t enough to knock him out of the strange mood he’s in. Matters don’t improve when he gets lost on the way to the weird little café where he’s meeting Isaac – some small place on the other side of town that he’s never even heard before. He feels sullen and stiff when he finally makes it into the café, a tight look on his face as he scans the room. 

‘Can I help you?’ A vaguely familiar girl with a thick mane of wavy blonde hair and a nose stud has appeared at Stiles’ side without him noticing. He bites back a curse. 

‘I’m just looking for someone’, he says. ‘I’m meeting a… friend here, but I’m a little late.’ The girl grins. 

‘I knew it! I thought I recognised you – you’re Stiles, right?’ She sticks out a hand for him to shake. ‘I’m Erica, one of Isaac’s friends. We actually went to high school together, but I’m guessing you don’t remember me.’ 

Stiles shakes her hand and actually takes a proper look at her. He nods slowly. ‘No, I remember you – you’re epileptic, right?’ Realising what he’s just said, he grimaces. ‘Sorry, that was a stupid thing to say. But I do remember you; we had Chemistry together from sophomore year, right?’ 

Erica nods. ‘Don’t worry, everyone says it. And yes, we had Chem together. Harris was an asshole.’ She pauses, smiling a little more softly. ‘Isaac doesn’t usually do things like this. I’m glad it’s you.’ Stiles waits, expecting Erica to explain what the hell she means, but she just jerks her head towards the back of the café. ‘He’s over in the corner. Can I get you anything to drink?’ 

Stiles looks over and sees a familiar mop of curly hair. Something catches in his throat at the sight of Isaac’s hunched shoulders and hands curled tightly around a big mug. He nods slowly. ‘I’ll a hazelnut latte, if you do them’, he says to Erica. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her nod. 

‘Sure’, she says, and heads off in the direction of the coffee machines. Stiles takes a breath, steeling himself a little as he walks towards Isaac’s table. He slips into the seat opposite Isaac and tries not to analyse the way they silently stare at each other for far too long. 

‘Sorry I was late’, he says at last. ‘I got lost.’ 

‘That’s ok’, Isaac says. ‘Not many people know this place exists.’ 

Stiles looks around, taking in the eclectic décor and how most of the people in the café have either parti-coloured hair, tattoos or piercings – and in some cases, all three. He nods slowly. ‘Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me’, he mutters to himself. ‘But it’s cool’, he adds hurriedly, worried that Isaac might take offence. To his surprise, the other boy just smiles. 

‘It’s different. That’s why I like it.’ Then his gaze drops to the table and he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. ‘I’m sorry’, he says. ‘About the library, and the cemetery, and the library again. I’m… I’m not very good at talking to people.’ 

Stiles is silent for a moment, unsure just what to say. Eventually, he smiles. ‘That’s ok, dude’, he says. ‘Everyone always tells me that I’m not very good at _not_ talking to people, so I guess we make a good pair.’ 

Isaac’s smile is wider than Stiles expects, and painfully genuine. ‘Thanks’, he says, shyly. ‘I appreciate you saying that.’ 

Stiles shrugs, still smiling. ‘No worries.’ Then silence falls between them for longer than is comfortable. Stiles scrambles for something to say and finally, he comes up with, 

‘So…how’re you getting on with that mountain of books you took out the library last time?’ To his relief (and delight, if he’s honest) Isaac looks up at him instantly, his eyes bright and interested. 

A couple of minutes later when Erica appears with Stiles’ latte, she finds the two of them deep in conversation about the relative merits of Isaac Asimov. She doesn’t say anything, but the smile she gives the two of them is fond, and she waits until she’s walking away to roll her eyes. 

‘What do you think?’ she asks Boyd when she gets back behind the counter. He looks over at Stiles and Isaac for a long moment, then looks back at her, giving a small nod. She smiles widely at him and presses a quick kiss to his cheek. ‘Me too’, she says. ‘Me too.’ 

She keeps a sharp eye on Isaac’s table though, just in case. By the time Stiles leaves, awkwardly fumbling his goodbyes and being ridiculously adorable, she’s not in the least bit worried anymore. 

‘I like him’, she tells Isaac. ‘And so does Boyd.’ Isaac blushes, scuffing his trainers against the floor, looking at his toes. 

‘We’re just friends’, he mumbles. ‘Not even that really.’ Erica raises an eyebrow at him. 

‘Do you _want_ to be ‘just friends’?’ she asks. Isaac shakes his head, staring at the floor. She nods to herself, satisfied. ‘I didn’t think so.’ Then she reaches over and grabs his chin, lifting his head up so he’s looking her in the eye. ‘Now I’m only telling you this because you look like a sad puppy, but I was keeping an eye on you today and you know what? He couldn’t take his eyes off you. So quit moping.’ 

The grin Isaac sends her is well worth all the lovesick mooning Erica knows she’s going to have to deal with later. 

* * *

The first thing Scott says when Stiles picks up the phone is: ‘Dude, since when do you hang out with Isaac?’ Stiles shrugs, then remembers Scott can’t see him. 

‘He came into the library again. I apologised for not remembering him and asked if he wanted to hang out some time. He said yes, so we went out for coffee.’ 

He can almost _hear_ Scott’s raised eyebrows. ‘Stiles, you know that sounds a lot like you guys went on a date, right?’ 

‘Well it wasn’t a date, jack-ass’, he retorts. ‘It was just coffee.’ 

‘Yeah, a coffee _date_ ’, Scott says, because he’s an asshole like that. ‘You totally like him, don’t you?’ Stiles rolls his eyes. 

‘So you’ve _never_ gone for coffee with another guy?’ he asks, because deflection is an excellent avoidance tactic. 

‘I go out for coffee with you, because we’re bros’, Scott tells him. ‘I don’t go for coffee with guys I barely know who I’m kind of fixated on, mainly because I don’t fixate on guys, which is mainly because I’m _straight_.’ Stiles mutters a curse at him and Scott just laughs. ‘You _do_ like him, don’t you!’ 

Stiles scowls. ‘Yeah, I like him’, he admits grudgingly. ‘Does it matter?’ 

‘Of course not!’ Scott tells him, like he shouldn’t even have to ask – which really, he shouldn’t. ‘Isaac’s awesome, you’re awesome – if you like him and he likes you, it’s totally cool.’ 

‘Thanks man’, Stiles says quietly, feeling a sudden rush of love for his best friend. 

‘No problem’, Scott says cheerfully. ‘Now do you want to come over or what?’ 

Stiles is walking out to his jeep when his phone text alert buzzes. It’s from Isaac. It reads, _are you free on wednesday?_

Stiles grins all the way to Scott’s house.


	4. December Pt 2: Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little shorter due to the chapter split. 
> 
> And yes, I realise I've made them into a right pair of oddballs.
> 
> Warning: very brief mentions of parental death, alcoholism and child abuse.

They manage to meet up for coffee three times over the next couple of weeks, and even make it to a film once. As they get to know each other better, Isaac starts to lose a lot of his awkwardness, even though Stiles only ever sees him truly relaxed when they’re deep in conversation. And slowly but surely, Isaac starts to let Stiles in.

A lot of things start to make more sense as Isaac begins to explain about his childhood. He doesn’t tell Stiles much, only the barest outlines and smallest hints, but Stiles has always been good at reading between the lines – a product of his own childhood and natural intuitiveness – so it’s not hard for him to piece things together. Isaac’s mother’s died in a tragic accident when he was little, which seems to be when things started to go wrong. A little digging in local archives and a few clever questions explain more: the descent of Isaac’s father into alcoholism; the sporadic episodes of abuse Isaac endured; his father’s eventual death of liver failure, when Isaac was fifteen. 

Stiles needs to dig less and less as time goes by though, as Isaac volunteers information more and more freely. He talks about how Camden pretty much raised him, protecting Isaac when he could; taking the brunt of their father’s anger. He talks about how Camden has been his legal guardian since he was fifteen and how he works at the funeral home because Camden can’t afford to send him to college, but he can give Isaac a home and a job. He talks about how Camden is kind of strict, but how he means well. And Stiles listens and learns, honoured that Isaac trusts him with this. 

In return, he tells Isaac about his own mother and life growing up as a smart-mouthed kid with an attention span of about thirty seconds. He talks about meeting Scott the day they started kindergarten, two strange little kids finding a kindred spirit in one another. He talks about growing up and moving out, about his degree, about moving back _in_. He takes the silences Isaac gives him and fills them with words and memories in a way that he wasn’t expecting to do. 

Four coffee dates (nobody’s calling them dates out loud – except Scott – but in the privacy of Stiles’ head… well that’s another matter) and a movie later and Isaac is less of a mystery, but no less fascinating. Four coffee dates and a movie and Stiles has never wanted to know anybody as much as he wants to know Isaac. Four coffee dates and a movie and Stiles is pretty much lost, even though that makes no sense whatsoever. 

It doesn’t help that he goes to his mother’s grave and finds a potted poinsettia in front of her headstone, the red flowers a bright splash of colour in the midst of the cold, grey cemetery. Instinctively, he knows that it’s from Isaac, just like he knows his mother would have _loved_ the plant, and the gesture sends a burst of warmth flooding through him. 

Then he feels like he should do something in return, but he doesn’t know what kind of flowers Isaac’s mother liked. For a couple of days he’s stumped. Eventually though he realises that while he doesn’t know about the flowers, he _does_ know the kind of books Isaac reads. So, he winds up spending a quiet afternoon at work looking out a selection of books he thinks Isaac would like. He leaves a scribbled note of thanks for the flowers in the middle of an old copy of Robert Jordan’s ‘The Eye of the World’. 

Isaac picks up the books on one of the rare days Stiles isn’t at work. The next week, Stiles finds a hazelnut latte on his desk every day, even though he never sees it being left there. It’s like Isaac is some kind of benevolent but shy ghost. Stiles knows he should find it weird. Instead, he finds it endearing. 

It’s hardly a surprise that he ends up buying Isaac a pair of gardening gloves for Christmas, remembering the dirt on Isaac’s hands the first time they met, and the way his palms are callused. The book of Tennyson’s poetry he puts with the gloves on the other hand… that isn’t planned at _all_ , just a spur of the moment, ‘I think he’d like this’, decision. 

By contrast, Isaac leaves a perfectly intact bird’s nest on the Stilinski front porch, which Stiles finds on Christmas morning. It is – without a doubt – the strangest present that Stiles has ever received. He loves it. 

‘Son, is there something I should know about?’ his father says, staring at the nest when Stiles carefully brings it inside. ‘Like who in the hell has left you a _bird’s nest_ on the front porch?’ 

Stiles smiles. ‘It’s from Isaac’, he says, with quiet warmth, a scrap of paper with Isaac’s handwriting sitting in the pocket of his jeans. 

John Stilinski takes a good look at his son, who’s staring (with something like reverence), at the bird’s nest in his cupped palms. He smiles a wry grin, shaking his head. ‘Your mother is laughing herself sick somewhere’, he tells Stiles after a moment. ‘But if you’re happy… well then I’m happy too.’ 

And even though nobody’s calling them dates, and Isaac’s never given any specific indication that he’s interested in Stiles – or in _men_ for that matter – and Stiles is probably falling in love with someone who doesn’t even like him as more than a friend, Stiles looks up at his dad and grins. 

‘I’m happy’, he says. 

* * *

Across town, Erica looks at the gardening gloves and book of poetry in Isaac’s lap, tips back her head and laughs and laughs and laughs. 

‘You really are made for each other’, she tells Isaac. She chuckles, ruffling his hair affectionately. ‘You utter weirdo.’ 

Isaac ducks out of her reach and runs his fingers gently over the book. He doesn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day.


	5. January: New Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the last chapter originally, but after I submitted the fic to the exchange (in a massive rush on deadline day) I added an epilogue. So it's not quite the end.
> 
> If anything, it's the beginning.

Stiles spends New Year’s Eve at a party at Lydia Martin’s house, talking to people he hated at high school, most of whom can’t even remember who he is. True, he’s more than a little flattered even to get an invite in the first place – he and Lydia were at Harvard together and hung out a fair amount, but she’s doing a Master’s now and he hadn’t expected her to have any lingering friendly feelings - but if he’s honest, it’s not his idea of a good time. In fact, he spends most of the evening wondering what Isaac’s doing. And if he wishes Isaac were there for the countdown, and the kiss that traditionally comes after… well nobody has to know. 

Actually, Stiles has been wishing Isaac was around a lot lately. He hasn’t seen Isaac since before Christmas, and (not) surprisingly, he misses him. They text intermittently, but it’s awkward and stilted in a way their conversations aren’t any more, and Stiles feels like he’s trying to force whatever it is between them into being something that it’s not ready to be just yet. It’s far from ideal. 

‘Dude, I don’t understand why you haven’t made a move’, Scott tells him on a lazy Saturday when they’re playing X-Box at Scott’s place. ‘Isaac talks about you _all the time_. I mean, not that he talks a lot, y’know, but when he talks, he talks about you. He clearly likes you, so you should go for it!’ 

Stiles shrugs awkwardly, looking at the tv screen to avoid looking at Scott. ‘The timing isn’t right’, he says after a moment or two, hoping that Scott will drop it. 

Predictably, he doesn’t. 

‘Stiles, _seriously_ , how can you say that? You’re single, he’s single, he likes you and you _obviously_ like him! Just ask him out, man!’ 

Stiles frowns, knowing his best friend means well. He’s a little exasperated with him nonetheless. Scott, for all that he’s loyal and supportive and basically Stiles’ number one fan, can sometimes be a bit dense. Or quite a lot dense. Apparently now is one of those times. Stiles sighs. 

‘Just… just trust me, ok? The timing’s not right’, he tells Scott, although that’s not what he really means. What he _really_ means is that he’s scared - no matter what Scott says, there’s no _proof_ that Isaac likes Stiles. Stiles doesn’t want to take a chance that he isn’t sure of, only to find he’s fucked things up between them. Isaac is beautiful and strange and fragile and Stiles doesn’t want to lose him, even if that means never acting on his feelings; even though he likes Isaac a _lot_. 

Scott sighs, holding up his hands in sign of surrender. ‘Ok dude, I’ll drop it’, he says, obviously realising Stiles isn’t in the mood. ‘I just don’t want to see you making yourself crazy the way you did about Lydia back in high school. Isaac’s great, but _you’re_ my best friend. I want you to be happy, y’know?’ 

Stiles nods and shoots Scott a smile. ‘I know. And I appreciate it.’ Then he rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck, picking up his controller. ‘Now are you ready to get your ass kicked again or what?’ 

* * *

‘Can I get these checked out?’ 

‘You know, some people might see that as a come-on’, Stile says jokingly, looking up from the computer with a grin. His face falls when he sees Isaac, another huge stack of books in his hands. ‘Oh, god, sorry! I…’ He shakes his head, sighs. ‘I wasn’t thinking.’ 

‘I don’t mind’, Isaac tells him quietly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. ‘It was funny.’ He fumbles with his wallet and pulls out his library card, handing it over to Stiles. ‘So… do you want to hang out on Saturday?’ 

Stiles nods, smiling back at Isaac. ‘Yeah’, he says. Then he adds, ‘I’d like that’, because apparently there’s something about Isaac that turns him into a total sap. He feels a little less pathetic when Isaac beams at him though. 

‘Great’, he says. ‘I’ll text you.’ Then he picks up his books and leaves, casting Stiles a smile over his shoulder as he heads out the door. Stiles sends up a silent prayer of thanks that nobody can hear the way his heart is trying to beat its way out of his chest. 

He still spends the rest of the day with a smile on his face though. 

* * *

On Saturday, Stiles gets to the café a little early with the intention of buying Isaac’s coffee for him. He stops in his tracks when he sees Isaac already at the counter, chatting with Erica, two coffees on a tray in front of him. Stiles’ eyes widen. 

‘Is that an apple and cinnamon muffin?’ he blurts out, like the socially inept idiot that he kind of still is. Isaac whips around at the sound of Stiles’ voice, his cheeks faintly tinged with pink. 

‘I figured I’d just order early, to save you the trouble when you got here’, he mumbles, looking sheepish. Stiles – because he’s weird – finds it adorable. 

He grins. ‘Thanks.’ A little of the tension in Isaac’s shoulders melts away and he smiles in return. Then he frowns, as if something’s just occurred to him. 

‘You’re early’, he says. It’s a statement, but Stiles feels like it’s a question. He shrugs awkwardly. 

‘I guess I had the same idea about coffee’, he admits. ‘But you beat me to it.’ 

Isaac relaxes even more. ‘Thanks.’ Then he jerks his head at the table that Stiles has – in the privacy of his own head – started to call theirs. ‘Come on.’ 

They don’t end up leaving the café until it’s dark outside. 

* * *

A month after Christmas, Stiles is staring at the library desk computer with something like murderous intent. It’s a Friday, it’s late, he’s tired and the _fucking_ computer has decided to throw some kind of bizarre temper tantrum that involves sending all emails to _itself_. In fact, he’s nearing the point of wanting to throw the computer of the roof of the library when he’s rudely interrupted by the sudden appearance of Isaac. 

‘Do you like me?’ he asks, his hair as messy as ever and his eyes wild. Stiles gapes. 

‘Of course’, he manages eventually. ‘We’re friends, aren’t we?’ To his surprise, Isaac fixes him with a look. 

‘Don’t play dumb’, Isaac says. ‘Do you _like_ me? Because everyone says you do and you act like you do, but you’ve never _said_ you do and it’s driving me crazy trying to figure it out!’ 

Stiles continues to gape, because this is all kind of a lot to process, especially as the only thing he was expecting to deal with today was resisting the urge to paper cut himself to death. So he gapes and he blinks and he watches Isaac fidgeting. It takes him a minute to remember how to speak, but he gets there in the end. 

‘Yeah, I do’, he says. ‘I do like you. I like you a lot, actually.’ And Isaac sighs happily, every line of his body softening and relaxing like he’s letting go of a breath he’s been holding in for _months_. Then he walks over to the desk, vaults over it and pulls Stiles into a kiss. 

It’s not exactly what Stiles had thought their first kiss would be like. 

That doesn’t mean it’s not perfect.


	6. Epilogue - February/Anniversary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This IS the end, and it's short - but hopefully sweet too. Thanks for reading!

It’s not as cold as it has been, but it’s still cold enough for Stiles to want his big coat, his scarf wound round and round his neck against the chill wind that’s blowing. Unusually though, the sun is out, shining brightly across the bare brown trees and wet grass. Stiles takes a moment to savour the warmth, turning his face into the light before he trudges on through the rows of grey gravestones. A couple of minutes later, he stops in front of a stone that he knows like the back of his hand. It’s pristine, like it always is these days. He gives a sad smile. 

‘Hey Mom’, he whispers, reaching out to lay a hand across the top of the gravestone. ‘How are you?’ 

Just like every other time he’s asked that question, there’s no reply. It doesn’t matter. 

‘Isaac’s been keeping things really tidy for you here’, he says after a minute. ‘I guess it’s kind of weird that I think it’s sweet, but then you always did call me your strange little man, didn’t you? But I guess I was never going to turn out any other way, seeing as you and Dad raised me.’ He chuckles briefly, then gives another wry smile. ‘I’ve done alright though, don’t you think?’ 

He slides his hand back off the stone and sighs, looking at the red roses that his father left this morning. He fumbles in his pocket and pulls out the sprig of rosemary he put in there that morning; it’s a little battered, but still intact, which is all that really matters. He places it beside the roses and stares for a moment at them, at true love and remembrance. Then he scrubs a hand over his face, blinks away his tears and swallows a sob. 

‘You’d like Isaac’, he says softly. ‘And not just because I like him. I mean, Dad’s cool with it but he doesn’t really get it. You’d understand though, cause you were a little strange too.’ He sighs sadly. ‘I wish you were still here, Mom.’ 

A moment of silence passes. 

‘I’ve got to go’, he says finally. ‘It’s Isaac’s mom’s birthday today, which is a totally weird coincidence. I said I’d meet him here. So, uh, goodbye I guess. I’ll see you next month. I love you.’ 

He reaches out to brush his fingertips against the gravestone again, then turns and walks away, across to the grave where Isaac’s mother lies. Today is a sad day for both of them, which is strange and hard and horribly unfair but also kind of perfect, because they both know what it feels like. 

Stiles slips his hand into Isaac’s and holds on. Next month, he’ll be back here again, standing in front of his mother’s grave and remembering the way her face looked in the flickering light her birthday candles cast. The dull brown of the landscape will be starting to wake up, full of promise for new life. And Isaac will be at his side, winding long fingers between his own and holding on. 

Suddenly, the day doesn’t seem so sad.


End file.
